Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas
by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta
Summary: or, "Tautų kalėdinis kietas riešutėlis." The Baltics were looking forward to a nice Christmas vacation, but terrorists across the street changed that. Rated for a lot of violence. De-anon from kinkmeme.
1. Chapter 1

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

I decided to explore this thing called a 'kinkmeme' and kinda got sucked in, and was only too happy to grant somebody's wish for the Trembling Trio to save everybody, action-movie style. I'd been hoping to post the whole thing on the 25th, but have been doing the fight scenes (and many other parts) way slower than I thought I'd be able to, so I missed Eastern Orthodox Christmas too… But you'll have it all eventually, and I hope you enjoy it.

(I'd love to post the link, but this site keeps eating it. If you really want it please ask.)

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

Part 1

"Please let me go! I swear I'll cooperate!" The fair-haired youth struggled against the rope, but it was too strong and he was helpless as they dragged him through the building.

"It's too late for that, my old friend," replied his captor, looking straight ahead as he spoke. The ungrateful boy was beneath him and didn't deserve his mercy or his full attention. Soon he, his bodyguards and his 'package' reached the roof, the late-December wind whipping their hair and his scarf. When the young man looked down at the ground far below he began a new spate of begging, which was ignored.

"Don't you see? I've given you so many chances, and you've only disappointed me," came the reply. His smile was cheerful, almost innocent-looking as he gazed out over the city. "Maybe you'll be reincarnated as someone who can be a loyal friend to me. Would you like that?"

"No! _Please_!"

Strong hands sent him flying.

"That is what many consider to be the fate of the last man to cross arms dealer Oleg Stepanovich Petrov," said the TV hostess' voice. On the screen was a photograph of a stern, bearded man with a scar across one grey eye. "Because there were no more witnesses who could prove his guilt, he has been at large since 1995."

"Turn it off, Estonia," pouted Latvia as he stared stubbornly into his coffee.

"No, I want to watch this." The bespectacled nation turned up the volume and took another sip from his own cup. "I can't believe nobody else is down here."

"Well, it still is sort of early. Everyone else is either asleep in their rooms or already headed off to business meetings."

"I'd rather be up too early than too late." To prove his point, Estonia finished his second pastry.

"How many more of those things are you going to eat?" asked Latvia, doing his best to ignore the gruesome re-enactments on the TV.

"Why are you worrying? They're free."

"It's not that. Shouldn't we be getting ready to leave? The others are probably up too."

"No, Hungary emailed last night to say she'd arrived very late because of work and has no intention of waking up before nine. Poland's been delayed by bad weather but hopes to get here soon." After they'd moved out of the Soviet Union house, the Eastern European nations had all had challenges to confront and changes to make, but despite the politics most of them agreed to come together once a year for a short period of relaxation. It was their own private 'I-survived-being-one-with-Russia' support group, with booze flowing in place of tears. Recently Ukraine had expressed an interest in the proceedings, so as a friendly overture they decided to hold this year's meeting in her house. As an added bonus, it was almost Christmas and they'd been planning a little holiday party.

"Wait, did you say you can get Internet?" Lithuania approached the two with his own breakfast in hand. "My laptop hasn't cooperated with me since I got here. How'd you do it?"

Estonia just smiled and finished his coffee.

"He's not very responsive this morning," muttered Latvia. "I asked him to turn off this crap and he wouldn't…"

"Latvia, did you spike your coffee?"

"Eh?"

"Did you spike your coffee?"

"It's perfectly good on its own! Who does that so early in the morning?"

"So you didn't?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you did."

"…"

"…"

"…well, what if I did? I mean, look at that! A _fish scaler_! Who does that? Do you want to look at that while you eat?"

"Just look at something else instead."

"Yeah, like that." Estonia nodded at the complex across the street, visible from where the three were sitting. Their hotel was by no means shabby, but the one over there was both high-class and high-tech, elegant and futuristic. It supposedly had a gym, an enormous pool, a modest-sized concert hall, a five-star restaurant, and its own mall. The museum that just happened to be next door was connected to the super-hotel by an all-glass walkway. Some offices were also there, separated from the hotel and museum by fountains (currently shut off due to the weather) and flowerbeds (currently occupied by hardy shrubs due to the weather). "I wish we could stay there. Stupid global economy."

Lithuania agreed. "I know, but as you so eloquently put it, things aren't as good as they could be, so it wouldn't be too considerate to our citizens."

"Well, I bet it's free to look," said Latvia, tired of poking at cold remains that reminded him just a little of unlucky informant viscera. He got up and started toward the elevators, intending to get his coat, scarf and hat from his room before heading out.

"Hey, I'm done eating. I want to come too." Estonia took one more bite of baked good and followed his friend.

"And so it's up to me to clear all three of our places?" Lithuania muttered when they'd left. "How considerate of them…" At least Latvia had been right –the coffee _was_ quite good.

The pair could hear carols and see each breath crystallizing as they jogged across the street. A few early risers were walking in the square.

"This is really, really nice," said Latvia, gazing up at the Lavrinenko Hotel.

Estonia nodded. "I read that the same man runs all of these buildings and is trying to expand further. Our hotel is owned by his company too."

"Eh? Then why don't we have a five-star restaurant?"

"Ours is one of his older ones. He wanted to remodel it, but there was some sort of safety issue that came up, so he ended up just building a new hotel."

The lobby would have been beautiful at any time of the year, but with assorted ornaments and a ten-foot tree, it drew an appreciative gasp from the two nations. There was a fountain in here too, sending up jewel-toned jets of water courtesy of lights in its base. Just visible was the entrance to the dining room, and faint but tantalizing scents wafted towards them. Latvia was somehow reminded of the competition between America and Russia, except the rivalry was over hospitality, not weapons, and instead of two worthy opponents facing off it was more like a hulking footballer stomping on a wheelchair-bound octogenarian. Maybe he ought to listen to Lithuania and stop spiking his coffee after all.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said a young woman at the front desk. "Are you here for the Bogumil meeting or the Maczuilis meeting?"

"Er, neither."

"Actually, we're staying across the street, but we were curious and wanted to have a look around. You don't mind, do you?"

The receptionist managed a smile. "I don't care. Everybody else is busy. Go on, explore. They won't let you into some places without a key, though."

'Some places' proved to be the computer room, concert hall (currently not in use), the gym and its adjoining pool (not quite as large as Latvia'd thought, but still impressive). Even the bouncer outside the dining room asked them for keycards.

"I'm not really that surprised," said Estonia as they shuffled away. "With a place this special, do you think they'd let just any riffraff wander around?"

"Hey, I'm not riffraff," pouted Latvia.

"I didn't mean you…"

"Back so soon?" chuckled the receptionist.

"They wouldn't let us into some places," deadpanned Estonia.

"Please don't be angry! It's the hotel's policy to promote the safety of our customers." She looked around, and lowered her voice. "Come here."

Hesitantly the two nations approached the desk, and she pressed something into Latvia's hand. "They've just kept you out of most of the hotel, so don't use it right away. Wait a few hours for the shift change and come back." His eyes went wide and she shushed him before he could give them away. "I like you two. Think of this as my good deed for Christmas. Just make sure you return it before you leave, okay?"

Estonia backed away from the counter and said aloud, "If that's the way it is, I guess it can't be helped. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you for understanding, sir," said the receptionist. "You can still access our shopping center. Why not give it a try?" She winked; Estonia winked back.

Of course the stores still had yet to open; Estonia wound up stopping in the gift shop near the mall's entrance to get a scarf he liked for his pal Finland. (He'd been busy with typical country problems and hadn't paid much attention to Christmas other than the gathering with his fellow nations.) Latvia purchased more coffee from a nearby vending machine.

"You like reindeer?" asked a young man who'd been in line behind them. He wore glasses like Estonia's, but his hair was black and his face suggested he could've been one of Germany's or maybe Switzerland's children.

"Oh, no, this is for my friend."

"Rabbits are better." The German nodded at his bunny-emblazoned wristband, magic rabbit keychain, and numerous pins affixed to the backpack he wore. "Unless you want to be dumped."

"Wha –It's not like that! I said we're friends!"

"Have fun lying to yourself," he snorted through his mouthful of candy, and walked off.

"What a jerk," said Latvia. "You ready to go back to our hotel?"

"Sure. Let's go out that way. It's closest to the hotel, and I want to look at the fountains back there."

When they went out they realized most of the 'fountains' were really sculptures. Some were inspired by classical Greco-Roman architecture, while others wouldn't have looked out of place on the set of a sci-fi movie. The only real fountain, placed in the center of the area, was carved from black and white marble to look like a mountain forest, the stony summit reaching thirty feet above an empty pool surrounded by miniature animal sculptures. Latvia cooed and went to stroke one. Estonia stopped him.

"They've probably got thousands of cameras around here," he said.

"They must have a thousand cameras around here," muttered the German kid from his table in the food court. He petted the small rabbit bobblehead that sat on his open laptop and continued, "I still can't believe they wanted me to get the offices too..." A familiar five-note sequence sounded from his pocket, and he answered the phone before the tune could continue. "i_Ja/i_?"

"Have you finished, Hinkel?" asked the man on the other end.

"No, I haven't. There are far too many cameras around here. I've gotten the ones in the hotel and offices the way you wanted, but if you want that last place completely blind it'll take more time and more money."

"How much more?"

"Ten thousand USD."

A quiet sigh. "Fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

(I think I took a slight liberty with history here… Then again, this whole city is made up. They could have done this.)

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 2<span>

"Hey, Lithuania!" Latvia called to his friend as they returned. "You've got to come see these sculptures!"

"Don't shout like that when it's so early," Lithuania chided his little buddy. "Now what's going on?"

"The courtyard is full of these sculptures–" Estonia was interrupted by someone's cell phone going off. It was Lithuania's.

"Hello?"

"Liet, the weather out here where I am is like, hideous! Remember when I told Estonia I'd get here this afternoon? I totally lied!"

"That's all right, Poland. We'll wait for you. Strange though, the weather here isn't so bad."

"Can you like, check it for me?"

Lithuania glanced at Estonia, the only one who could get Internet. "Estonia can." He mouthed, _Can you help me out? It should only take a minute or two_.

Poland's voice became extra-loud. "Hey, Estonia! I'd totally love it if you helped me out here!"

Leaning toward the phone, Estonia replied, "I'm in the lobby right now. I'll go upstairs and get my laptop, and when I've seen what the weather is like I'll call you, all right?"

"Super! Don't take too long, 'kay?" And he was gone.

"Hey Latvia, show him the shops, a few should have opened by now. I'll come back over there in a few minutes." Estonia went up to his room to fetch his laptop, then thought about the delicious free baked goods that weren't going to be taken away for another three hours, and returned to the dining area. He took two more pastries, turned on his computer, and began his search for the information Poland wanted.

"What are you, their research expert or their record-keeper?" came a nearby voice. Estonia whirled around, not knowing quite what to expect (hey, the USSR hadn't broken up _that_ long ago), and saw a girl dressed in a white shirt, dark skirt and an apron with the hotel's insignia.

"Don't be scared," she said. "I think what you guys are doing is cute."

"I'm sorry? What are we doing?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your little model United Nations. The guy you got to portray Latvia is just adorable! So which country are you?"

Oh, _that's_ what she thought. "I'm Estonia."

"And I'm the People's Republic of Halyna." She laughed. "I hope you've been finding everything to your satisfaction."

"Oh, everything's been fine. The food's great."

Halyna laughed again, then asked, "Do you know about the tunnels they used during the Great Patriotic War?"

"Yes." Ukraine had told him about some of what she'd been up to at that time.

"Well, they've got some here. This hotel is built right on top of one." She glared in the direction of the competition. "Supposedly, the jerks across the street are too."

That would explain the issue with remodeling, thought Estonia. Having found the weather information, he took out his cell phone and said, "Would you excuse me? I promised I was going to call somebody."

"Who, Russia?"

Not if he had anything to say about it! "No, Poland."

Halyna just smiled. As she left she said, "If you need some more history to contemplate, the museum over there is supposed to be hosting an exhibit of artifacts from Kievan Rus'. I'll bet your Ukraine would like that."

Estonia smiled back. "I think she would."

"Goodbye, Mr. Estonia. Enjoy your stay."

Ring, ring – "Hello?"

"Poland, I've just checked the website, and although the weather's pretty bad now it's supposed to let up in a few hours."

"Fantastic! Well, tell Liet I'll see him soon. I don't know why, but I just can't reach his phone!"

Latvia and Lithuania had returned to the mall, only to find that no, they still weren't officially open. Latvia shrugged, found the other exit that led to the statues, and quickly turned away at the last second.

"Latvia? What's the matter?"

"N-nothing…" stammered the boy as he dashed to the nearby men's room. Lithuania stared after him for about ten seconds, then let out a small groan and followed him. Stupid addictive coffee.

While the two Baltic nations were learning their lesson about free caffeine, three men walked through the Lavrinenko Hotel's automatic doors. They shot the security guards, prompting screams from those in the lobby and nearby dining area. A fourth man entered and fired his pistol into the air, ordering "_Quiet_!" in Russian. The frightened patrons complied, and even more men started forcibly herding them into one of the ballrooms.

The leader, pistol still in hand, marched over to the desk and demanded, "Where is Yevgen Lavrinenko?"

The poor receptionist didn't have to put on much of an act, though. "I-I-I don't know! I'm sorry! I almost never see him, he might not even be at work today!"

The grey-eyed man ordered some of his followers to guard all entrances and exits to the mall and hotel, then led another group to the offices. The security personnel there suffered the same unhappy fate as their colleagues at the hotel, and their receptionist was quick to put up his hands and let himself be led to the 'holding area' that soon filled with other captive workers forced from their offices.

"Which of you is Yevgen Lavrinenko?"

The captives were all too frightened to speak, but one of the gunmen recognized the face of the man they were seeking.

"Here he is, Mr. Petrov," he said, grabbing the poor old man's arm and thrusting him at his boss. "His picture was hanging in the hotel lobby."

Petrov smiled unpleasantly down at him. "Merry Christmas, Comrade Lavrinenko."

"W-what do you want?" the businessman managed to get out.

"What do I want?" repeated Petrov. The smile vanished from his face. "What do I want? I want to see Mother Russia grow strong again! I want to see the entire Soviet Union grow strong again! I want to see her free from parasites like you, who embrace corrupt capitalism and exploit the resources of the people! Free from decadent Western influence!"

"B-but what could I do? When everything changed in '91… I didn't know what to expect. No one did. I only wanted a better life!"

"And you turned your back on your country to get it! People like you disgust me!" Petrov seemed to calm down a bit. "But that's why I'm here. I will make things better, one grasping, cowardly, disloyal oligarch at a time."

"How?" asked Lavrinenko in a tiny voice.

"Like this." From his coat pocket Petrov produced a cell phone, and dialed a short sequence. A powerful explosion rocked the office building. His hostages, already kneeling, fell to the floor, protecting their heads.

Lavrinenko forgot himself for a moment. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Are you insane?"

"No, to both questions," replied the terrorist. "Comrade Nestor does very good work. That blast was meant only to frighten." The cell phone rang, and the brave few who'd dared to lift their heads were quick to cover them again. "What is it, Hinkel?"

"What's going on over there?" came the hacker's voice, loud enough for everyone to hear. Petrov moved away from the group. "You weren't supposed to kill any hostages this early!"

"None of them are dead, Hinkel. Just a little…demonstration."

"I wish you'd done it differently."

"Get to the point!"

"Lavrinenko spared no expense on this complex. Whatever it is you were compelled to blow up just now activated a new layer of security in the other building."

"Then do what I pay you to, and deal with it!" growled Petrov.

"I will, I will… But you know what they say: 'time is money.' This will take even _more_ time to get past, so I want five thousand more on top of the bonus we discussed earlier."

"We will see." Petrov hung up, and walked back over to Lavrinenko. "Come with me, Comrade Lavrinenko. We need to speak further."

* * *

><p>Somehow, listening to the Soviet anthem helped me write Petrov's little speech. BUT I LOVE MY COUNTRY, I DO.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

Slow update is slow. I'd like to cite perfectionism, but… no. Sorry.

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 3<span>

Latvia frowned as he looked around the mall. "I KNOW something should have opened by now…" What he didn't know was that any shopkeepers or potential buyers were rounded up and imprisoned with the visitors at the hotel. He and Lithuania came close to receiving the same treatment; as they wandered about they were required to cross a hallway fifty feet down from another exit, and were spotted by the man stationed there. He let out a yell and brandished his gun, and the pair dove for a safe spot.

"What's his problem?" exclaimed the youngest Baltic nation.

"I don't know," said Lithuania, "but I think we ought to postpone our shopping trip!" That said, he grabbed his friend's hand and ran in the opposite direction from the gunman. When they were near the hotel another man confronted them, so they turned and ran down a short, narrow hallway, having no qualms about disappearing through the "Authorized Personnel Only" door.

Behind the door was another short passage, which led to a loading dock. They hurried over to another door, then through one more passage, and found themselves in a state-of-the-art kitchen (whose personnel had all been spirited away by the terrorists). Latvia immediately made for the walk-in freezer; Lithuania decided to hide in one of the ovens and held deathly still as the terrorist entered.

"Where are you two troublemakers?" he drawled. He yanked open the nearest refrigerator and found nothing but some cake, which he began to munch while searching the rest of the kitchen. Fortunately he barely glanced at the ovens, but he was in front of the freezer all too soon. There was nothing Lithuania could do without giving himself away, and the man would have his gun out by the time he got there…

"Hey, kid! Come out of there!"

Latvia, already cold, was experiencing the worst non-Russia-related shivers of his life when the terrorist found him. He swallowed hard, placed his hands on his head and walked out towards the machine gun pointed at his face. As soon as he left the freezer, the terrorist roughly grabbed his arm, smearing chocolate frosting on his coat, and shook him.

"There shouldn't even BE any kids back here… Do as I say or you won't make it back to your parents, understand?" Latvia nodded, and the man turned around only to meet Lithuania's fist. The force of the blow spun him around again, and as he tried to aim his weapon at the newcomer Lithuania quickly snapped his neck.

"Call Estonia!" ordered Lithuania. "Tell him not to come back here!"

Latvia hurried to comply, but made an unfortunate discovery. "I-I can't get a signal!"

"Crap… Get his gun."

Latvia obeyed. "But what about you?"

Lithuania ransacked the kitchen for half a dozen sharp knives of various sizes, which he attached to himself using strips of a towel. "I'll manage. Come on, something around here stinks and we need to find out what."

Yevgen Lavrinenko's office was on the top floor of his building, tastefully decorated in the neoclassical style. One of Petrov's men forced him into a plush chair, and the leader faced him emotionlessly, hands behind his back.

"Comrade Lavrinenko… you really did spend a lot of money to build this place, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry, I truly am–" Petrov held up a hand, indicating he ought to be quiet.

"What's done is done. I'll say no more about your lack of patriotism. Right now I'd like to discuss your peculiar security system. It seems that when I… got your attention downstairs, the explosion caused what was left of your complex to become even more secure. I need to know exactly what was done, and how it can be undone."

"Sir, I have a safe right over there, behind that painting. There's another hidden downstairs in the hotel. You're angry with me, you've captured me. Must you torment my employees and my guests too? My valuables are as good as yours now –please, just take what you want and leave."

Petrov, seeming almost amused, patted him on the shoulder. "I said I didn't want to talk about the betrayal of our Union, but you keep trying to provoke me, don't you? Now, will you or won't you tell me how to get through this system?"

Lavrinenko sat there for a moment, not saying anything. He raised his eyes to regard Petrov, looking for all the world like an innocent, bewildered grandfather. Then he broke away and bolted for the phone on his desk. He'd barely made it halfway when Petrov's henchman shot him in the back.

The head terrorist glared at him over his shoulder. "Idiot! I needed him alive!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov!"

"So many apologies! Useless!" He shook his head. "But there is more than one way to do this."

Back in the abandoned food court, Hinkel hurriedly minimized his game of Minesweeper and hit the "talk" button on his cell phone. "I'm working as fast as I can! Busy, busy, busy! So how about that extra five thousand?"

"Nothing has been promised yet," replied Petrov. "How much progress have you made?"

"You can't rush art," said the hacker. "So far I've learned that all of the buildings are connected. Not just physically, but electronically. Each has its own generator and security system, but then there is a central one that has to be deactivated before the other three can be taken care of. Damage to one building, like that from the dumb stunt you pulled, will heighten security on the other two. Now I did manage to sneak a peek at the part you're concerned with, and I can get through those layers, but again, it's going to take longer than we'd planned for."

"Let me worry about that. What about that main generator? Might shutting it off have some effect?"

"Mmm, probably… but I'm not going down there! Later!"

"Dirty, slothful Westerner…" Petrov closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he radioed some of his men and ordered them to the basement. "Find the main generator and disable it. If you need to, call Comrade Nestor and get some explosives."

He contacted another few men, telling them to make sure Nestor had space to maneuver should he need it. The last did not reply to this order. "That's strange… Volkov? What are you doing? Answer me, Volkov!" Still no answer came, and so Petrov called the man closest to Volkov's designated position and told him to check on him.

"Volkov is missing," stated the man once he'd gotten there. He leaned casually against the wall, munching on a candy bar he'd pilfered.

"Missing? Where could he have gone? Find him, tell him to get back to his post!"

The gunman _did_ find his comrade, but neither of them would be answering to Petrov again. Lithuania wiped his knife off on the fallen one's coat and took his gun before he and Latvia reached the hotel unopposed.

"Where is everybody?" asked Latvia. His question was answered in the worst way when he found the body of one of the security guards. As a nation, he was used to death, but… "Estonia could have come through here!"

"I think he's still alive," Lithuania reassured him. "Look… the dining area's empty. No bodies, nothing. There were plenty of people there when we came earlier, so they must've all been taken somewhere."

"I'm calling the police," said Latvia. Respectfully he passed the man on his way behind the desk, and picked up the phone. Fortunately he did not have to wait long.

"Hello, M- City Police Department."

"I'm at the Lavrinenko Hotel. Some gunmen have taken over the mall, killed the security guards and taken some of the guests hostage. Please send help!"

"Someone will come to you shortly."

"Thank you!"

It turned out someone had already come to them. Latvia finally decided to acknowledge the odd banging noise he kept hearing, and when he turned to really look at the doors for the first time he saw a familiar face outside.

"Estonia!"


	4. Chapter 4

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

(Had the best possible inspiration in the background while I typed this part. If only I'd gotten something to explode.)

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 4<span>

His friends rushed to the doors where he looked through at them in confusion and worry. Lithuania tried to pry them open but failed.

"Sorry!" he shouted.

"What's going on in there?" Estonia shouted back. "I haven't been able to call either of you, I can't get into the hotel, or the mall, although I don't think I want to any more because there are strange men at the exits… is that a dead man on the floor?"

"There are terrorists in here," explained Lithuania. "We've only seen a few so far, but they've captured nearly everybody here, and for all we know they've messed things up so no one can get in or out, or get a signal to call for help."

"They didn't think of the landline, though," said Latvia. "We just called the police."

"Good! Come out of there!"

"Hey! Who's down there?" barked a voice from down the hallway.

"Run, Estonia! Don't try to get in and help us!"

"What are you two going to do?"

Lithuania smiled grimly. "To quote a friend of mine: we're going to be heroes." And with that, he and Latvia were off, ducking into the dining room just as one of the terrorists hove into view. Estonia quickly moved away from the doors until he was no longer visible through the glass, and leaned against the wall while trying to make sense of what he'd just seen.

"I can't believe this… No, I need to get a grip. We've faced worse." Realization struck him, and he wore his own grim smile. "He said not to try to _get in_ and help them…"

Two seconds later, cars screeched to a halt to avoid hitting a young man in glasses, waving his arms and screaming his head off.

"It's awful!" he cried. "It's unholy! I've never seen such terror in my young life!" (Who would question that? Being one of the younger-looking nations did have its advantages.) He ran back and forth in the street, occasionally stopping to grip his hair and wail.

"What's your problem?" demanded one of the motorists.

"There!" gasped Estonia, clutching his chest and pointing at the hotel. "In there are my friends, closer than brothers! My mother! My uncles! My beautiful fiancée! They're all going to be shot!"

"Is it the Mafiya?" asked another, more morbid, driver. She'd nearly run him over, and he'd had to flatten himself against a Channel 8 van parked beside the curb (probably there to cover the Kievan Rus' exhibit).

"It may be! Irina is quite rich, and was going to inherit her father's company when we married! But if those men in there aren't stopped, we'll never get to be together! The money means nothing, I just want my darling to be safe!"

By now there was a fair amount of traffic in the area. Estonia cheered inwardly when he saw at least one of the drivers take out a cell phone, hopefully to contact a news network. My friend, he thought, patting the van, if you want a really good story you and your camera crew had better hurry back from your coffee break.

He launched himself from the van and resumed the act. "My mother is a saint! She should be celebrating today, not dying! She hasn't even had the chance to become a grandmother!"

They were drawn in now. This was better than any story Estonia had made up online. Some of the cars had driven off now that he'd crossed back over to wail some more in front of his own hotel, but other vehicles idled while their drivers approached the hotel entrance, wanting to see the disaster with their own eyes. The gunman who had chased his friends away yelled for the onlookers to leave, but they didn't obey until he began to fire. Miraculously, no one was hurt as they scattered away.

"This never would have happened in the old days," complained the woman who had almost hit Estonia. "Everything's become worse and worse since 1991."

"And my mother would agree with you! She's a wise woman, just like you. You would love her. Please, anyone, help me! Don't let them all die like this!"

Petrov was sitting at Lavrinenko's desk, smoking one of his cigars, when a complaint came through on the radio. "Mr. Petrov! There's a crowd outside of the hotel!"

"What are they doing?"

"Pointing and staring, mostly. I scared them back a few feet. Many are in their cars."

He thought for a moment. "They are no threat to us or our plan, but I'd rather you kept them away. Use whatever amount of force is necessary."

"Yes, Mr. Petrov."

Oh, and here came the police; the media were sure to follow and give the Channel 8 people some company. Ironically, the van was driving away, disappearing around the corner of the complex. Somebody's boss wouldn't be too happy about missing out on the story –still, terrorists liked attention, and soon they'd be getting plenty of it. Hopefully Latvia and Lithuania could get out of there while they were distracted. Estonia went inside, headed up to his room, and switched his computer back on. They could all be heroes together.

When he'd opened the program he needed, the first place he searched was the Lavrinenko Hotel. Its cameras weren't showing anything… A quick keystroke revealed that cameras all throughout the complex were the same.

Hinkel set down his can of soda when he heard his computer beeping. Somebody was attempting to get inside the system. It wasn't the police. He'd heard Petrov on the radio, screaming and cursing over their arrival, but he'd seen their work before and this wasn't it. He began to type frantically. "Go home, kid, this game isn't for you."

Estonia suddenly found his path blocked by a picture of a rabbit making a rude gesture. "It's the day of the jerk bunnies, isn't it?" Still, it was nothing for him to find another way.

"Naughty, naughty, naughty. Somebody doesn't know his place!" Hinkel began to force the intruder out again, and was pleased when he met no resistance. That happiness proved to be short-lived when a different alarm indicated another part of the system was under attack.

"So you thought you could be the phone company? Not any more!" Estonia smirked in triumph and pressed one last key. Whatever the other guy's reason for blocking cell phones (not a noble one, to be sure) he'd no longer be able to do it. Unless –"Oh, no you don't!" He blocked an attack from the other end just in time. "Just how much are you people trying to hide in there?"

Hinkel took a big gulp of soda and wished he had another bag of chips. "He's good. He's really good." Since his opponent was obviously no stranger to this, it was time for him to bring out the big guns. "Block THIS if you can!"

"My goodness…" Estonia was more impressed than upset with the enemy. The new attack was repulsed like the last one, albeit with greater effort, but he decided to let him think he had the upper hand. Now he worked only to protect his computer from damage, while allowing the other to view whatever he pleased. In a few more minutes it wouldn't do him any good anyway.

"This is what you used to stop my program?" Hinkel gave a low whistle of admiration and reached for his soda again. "If you're quite finished for the day, I think I'll switch it back on now…"

His attempt to regain control of the cell phone signal activated Estonia's trap. To Hinkel it appeared the other's computer had stopped resisting, but Estonia gained access to all the cameras he could ever want. Hinkel only realized what was going on when he encountered Estonia's own custom error message, a Finnish man pulling at his lower eyelid and sticking out his tongue. He had just enough time to backtrack and save a bit before a good chunk of his PC became unusable –except for to the other guy.

"_Scheiβe_!"

Estonia bowed to nobody in particular. "Thank you, thank you. Boy, was that a good workout."

Latvia and Lithuania, after fatally surprising a gluttonous terrorist at the bar in the back of the dining room, hid under a nearby table; from here they hoped to be able to spot the gunman from earlier at the entrance before he saw them. They heard shouting and machine-gun fire, and looked at each other.

"Estonia?" whispered Latvia.

Lithuania whispered back, "He was outside and he ran away. Why would they keep shooting at him?"

The terrorist's voice floated towards them. "…back a few feet. Many are in their cars. …Yes, Mr. Petrov."

"So they answer to somebody named Petrov…"

Latvia groaned quietly and put his head in his hands. "Great! That's the name of the arms dealer from the news!"

"It sounds like the police have arrived. I think we could get past that one man and force our way out of the mall."

"How will the police know we aren't with the terrorists?"

"Good point…"

Back in his new office, Petrov eyed the television, then turned to his radio. It was time to acknowledge the company they'd just gotten.

"Good morning, M- City Police. Yes, your radios are functioning normally." He gave a warm-sounding chuckle. "This is Oleg Stepanovich Petrov, broadcasting from the office of the traitor Lavrinenko."

"What do you want, Petrov?" asked the chief, who had insisted on coming along to help deal with the mayhem at the hotel.

"Well, first of all I want us to handle this situation like level-headed gentlemen. I will attack if I must, of course, but I have no desire to harm any law-enforcement personnel. After all, we are on the same side."

"I don't follow you."

"Both of us protect something dear to us. You work to keep the people safe, and I work for the sake of the glorious state that once watched over us all, like a loving mother. Now you are misguided, answering to this country's corrupt new government, but you still care for the people, as do I. Let us strive to cooperate in this."

"All right. We both want people to be safe. But if that's true, why have you taken over these buildings? Where is Mr. Lavrinenko?"

Petrov chuckled again. "What is the saying they have in the West? Something about cracking eggs to make an omelet? Comrade Lavrinenko recklessly treated the resources of all as if they were his own, building his business empire up from the suffering of others. This could not go unpunished."

"And what of the others you have with you? Many of them are just innocent working-class people!"

"Do not worry. They are unharmed and can be set free –but that depends on you. What I have done, in the past and today, I have done as a patriot, even if it seemed the whole world frowned upon me. Now I wish to speak to officials of the Russian government. I need to know that I will be pardoned and none of my deeds will be held against me."

The chief longed to tell him that was never going to happen, but he had all those lives to think about. "I'll get somebody to start making phone calls. It'll take several hours at the least for this to happen."

"I understand. We're not going anywhere." Petrov sounded perfectly chipper. "But I suppose I should warn you. We brought explosives, as a mere precaution, you see, and the man who watches them isn't as… patient as I am. So do your best!"


	5. Chapter 5

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

...happy late Thanksgiving?

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 5<span>

There was a knock at the door. Estonia ignored it, but the sounds only became louder and more frequent, and finally a familiar voice called, "Mr. Estonia? I know you're there, I saw you when you came back!"

He got up and opened the door a crack to reveal Halyna's concerned face. "There's something I think you should see. Bring the computer if you want."

Estonia got his laptop and followed her downstairs. Other hotel patrons were picking at their eggs and staring at the television the way Latvia had tried not to earlier. Before he could see what they were watching, Halyna tugged his arm and led him to a small office. In a corner, a small set was broadcasting footage of the police currently outside the Lavrinenko Hotel, interspersed with photos of a scarred man and shaky cell-phone clips of the show he'd just put on.

"What the heck is going on? I thought you and your friends were staying here, so why are arms dealers holding them over there? Are you from a rival gang or something?"

"Don't worry, no one is going to come over here. My friends" –here he took out his cell phone and dialed a number –"are not criminals, but they are pretty fearless fighters themselves."

"Just who _are_ you people?"

"I thought you'd figured that out earlier. We're the Baltic nations." He smiled and pressed "call."

Lithuania jumped and nearly cracked his head open on the table when his phone rang. Not bothering to find out who was calling, he answered it before it could make any more noise.

"Hello?"

"Lithuania, how are you two?"

"We're all right. At the moment, we're hiding, but we're thinking of ways to get out of here safely."

Latvia grabbed the phone and hissed, "How did you manage to get a signal?"

"That's an interesting story. It seems somebody in there has been blocking everyone's phones and also hacked all the security cameras. I'll bet they're behind the doors being locked too. Now I've taken over part of that little operation, and I don't think our new friends are your average terrorists."

"What's 'average' terrorist behavior?" deadpanned Latvia.

"If all these guys wanted was to air their beliefs, why would they bother messing with the cameras? There are news crews outside. Everyone knows they're here, everyone knows they're not happy with…uh… according to the footage I've seen, they have a bone to pick with the owner. They've already made some speech about communism, it's all over the news. But they're acting like they have something to hide."

"What are they hiding?"

"I don't know. Whoever they've got doing their computer work is brilliant, and it was enough for me to do what I did without taking any damage on my end, but I managed to catch a glimpse of some kind of security program. If you were a terrorist, what would be your approach to security, or rather the de-stabilization of such?"

"Explosives," said Latvia.

"Toxins," said Lithuania.

"Remind me never to make you two angry… Anyway, they did activate one bomb outside the office building, but they've been trying to get through the security system for the complex. Instead of just blasting their way to whatever it is they want, they're almost acting like it's a top-secret government mission that has to be handled with the utmost delicacy."

Lithuania snorted. "Delicacy? Looks like they failed."

"Like I said, I'm not a hundred percent sure what they're up to. One of the components of their plan is code-named 'Rurik.' Does that mean anything to you?"

"No."

"None of the guys we've fought said anything about it. We overheard one man talking about cars, and we think they answer to Petrov, from this morning's broadcast."

"I'm afraid that's exactly who we're dealing with. He was just on the news, talking to the police." He checked the different security cameras and continued, "When you feel the need to 'speak' with him he's in the biggest office on the top floor of the rear building. Looks like they've shot the owner, poor guy. Oh, and one more thing! There are about thirty hostages in Ballroom B of the hotel, and another twenty or so in the atrium of the office building. Shoot all the bad guys you have to, but be careful in those two areas. You'll come back safely, right?"

"You know we will," said Lithuania.

"We'll all have a nice drink after this," promised Latvia.

Estonia hung up and turned to an awe-struck (if her mouth hanging slightly open was any indication) Halyna. "Would you mind changing the channel? That reporter's voice irritates me." Well, not really, but ever since he'd been watching, the woman had been discussing his appearance in a way that sort of made him uncomfortable.

Halyna shut her mouth, swallowed hard and said, "Sure. What would you like to watch?"

"Let's see how the other networks are handling the situation. How about Channel 8?"

She shook her head slowly. "Channel 8 isn't a news network…"

Two seconds later Estonia was out the front door. This time he didn't linger in the street, but crossed over and started to search for the spot where he saw the van turning. Carefully he peered around the corner to see it squeezed in front of a large truck, whose owner had probably become one of the terrorists' prisoners. A man finished his rummaging through the windowless vehicle and brought out some small packages, which he passed to a trio of tough-looking, machine gun-toting men. When he moved away from the van Estonia spotted more guns, a few more packages, and what looked like a rocket launcher.

"For the last time, this will be more than enough," the man was saying. His ears were too big for his head.

"Comrade Nestor, you haven't seen this thing," said the shortest of the trio.

"You almost didn't see it either, Comrade Melchyor," joked one of his comrades.

"Shut it, Comrade Gaspard. It's sitting down there in its own little trench, down some steps, behind a wall and another door. Even with a super-powerful flashlight, you can still miss it if you don't know what you're looking for."

"He couldn't see over the wall~" Gaspard emitted an un-manly giggle and was punished for his impudence when Melchyor's elbow found his ribs.

"ANYWAY, it's nearly my size" –here he glared at Gaspard, daring him to say something else –"and we really will need all these explosives in order to knock it out."

"Fine," said Nestor. "Remember to radio Mr. Petrov and tell him when you're done."

The trio went back into the hotel, and Nestor shut the van and got in the front. Estonia prepared to move lest he drive off, but the van remained stationary. Creeping closer, he heard noises coming from inside, and saw the terrorist mouthing the words to a song he couldn't quite make out.

"May as well get myself a weapon while I'm out here. I'll probably be glad for it later," murmured Estonia. He grasped the side door handle and pulled to no avail. "Then again, maybe not." A sharp blow to the base of his neck indicated Nestor had discovered him, and he fell to the ground stunned.

"You! Attention-seeking little…" Nestor, of course, recognized him from earlier. Estonia got kicked in the side a couple of times before he managed to wiggle away and make for the relative safety of some nearby garbage bins. Then he remembered the terrorist could still get to his van full of guns, and while Nestor was fumbling with his keys in an attempt to do just that, he forced himself up and groped for a hefty object that turned out to be a broken chair. Swinging his makeshift weapon, Estonia rushed at him and scored a good hit just as he'd slid open the door. Nestor collapsed but still managed to grab a machine gun; Estonia tackled him, making sure to stay lower than the gun, and started trying to wrestle it away.

The terrorist twisted his head around and bit the country's wrist, hard enough to draw blood. Groaning in pain, Estonia relaxed his grip, but kneed Nestor in the groin and began to squeeze his neck instead, slamming his head into the ground. Nestor, who was larger, flipped the small nation off of him, right over his head and into the van. The weapons made for a less-than-pleasant landing. Estonia hurried and sat up to evade the butt of Nestor's gun, which came down hard where his head had been just two seconds ago. He grabbed a nearby case (please don't be full of explosives, he thought) and used it to knock the gun from the terrorist's hands. Nestor retaliated with a wicked left hook to the face, and once again Estonia landed in a pile of weapons. He kicked out as hard as he could, taking morbid satisfaction in the crunching noise that let him know he'd shattered at least one of Nestor's kneecaps.

With a howl, the terrorist threw himself on top of Estonia, who tried to scoot backwards and only managed to dislodge the rocket launcher. Nestor, doing his best to return the chokehold from earlier, disregarded the cylinder landing on his head and sliding down across his back as he concentrated on his murderous goal. The nation knew he didn't have much time left, so he used his teeth to yank off one of his gloves before plunging two fingers into Nestor's eye. Once again the terrorist howled, and Estonia pried his hands away, got from underneath him, and fell over the launcher while attempting to exit the van.

"Going somewhere, brat?"

Estonia turned. One of Nestor's hands was clamped over his damaged eye (was that liquid oozing from underneath it?) and the other was pointing a pistol at him. The nation looked down at the rocket launcher he was sprawled over; it was currently aimed out of the van's open door, and even if it wasn't the rocket would just destroy the van with him in it…

"That's no good to you, is it?" Nestor chuckled and cocked the gun.

"No… I guess not!" Estonia squeezed the trigger anyway, sending the rocket out of the van and a burning-hot cloud directly into Nestor's face. He quickly ducked and allowed his hands and arms to be pelted with bits of rubble from the explosion he'd just caused. He honestly felt worse for the building than he did for the terrorist.

* * *

><p>I wanted to have Estonia fry Nestor with some C4, but couldn't figure out how to connect the stuff and give him access to it on such short notice. I found that part difficult and can't help but feel it is weaker than the rest. I love reading fight scenes but I guess I still need to practice writing them. Hmm...<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

Here be death. I mean, that's nothing new, but... just read on.

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 6<span>

Latvia and Lithuania heard a muffled boom and thought somebody had thrown a hand grenade at them. They each knelt behind a table prepared to begin shooting, but met no attacker. All they saw was one panicked man running by in the hallway outside, shouting something they couldn't make out.

"Police?" wondered Latvia.

"Well, _somebody's_ got them scared. I say we take advantage of this and save the hostages."

"Okay, let's do it. But first…" Disregarding the dead terrorist, Latvia climbed over the bar and started to examine the bottles. He found one he liked and began to drink it, stowed two others in his coat, and walked back around to meet Lithuania's questioning gaze. "What? I'll pay for these when it's over."

Lithuania chose to take a book of matches, and said nothing.

Balthasar, Melchyor and Gaspard had called to let Petrov know that they'd destroyed the generator, and a minute later Hinkel called to express his gratitude for the resulting facilitation of his crooked little job, but Petrov noticed something on the television and cut him off. It must've gone off right after the trio completed their mission… He glowered at the broadcast of smoke pouring from the side of the hotel, switched on the radio, and began to scream at the chief of police.

"What are you doing out there? Did I not express my desire for us to cooperate peacefully?"

"I don't know what that was!" cried the chief. "We've ordered the people to keep away, and law-enforcement personnel have yet to approach that building."

Petrov continued to watch the television, and when the news chopper rounded the side of the building to observe the new development he spotted a young man, who definitely did not work for him, near his portable cache of weapons. He was slumped against the van, massaging his throat, and appeared to be staring at the destroyed section of wall nearby. How did that explosion happen? Where was Nestor? Why hadn't Hinkel told him about any of this? Then the boy began to move, and when Petrov realized what he was up to he picked up the radio again.

"Comrade Shawn. Comrade Irving. Someone seems to be after our weapons."

From a rooftop two blocks over flew another helicopter, this one emblazoned with the phony Channel 8 News pilot grinned a grin that stretched nearly all the way across his thin face and told his boss, "Don't worry. I'll take care of him!"

The portly man next to him snickered. "You mean you're going to waste half of our ammunition trying to cut down one boy? This isn't Azerbaijan, Comrade Shawn."

"Of course it isn't," Shawn shot back. "The seams of your pants are still intact, aren't they?"

Some sixth sense and the sound of the blades prodded Estonia to look up. He gulped, dumped the rest of his prize into the last of the large, un-burnt trash cans, and started to push it in front of him. Then he jumped in headfirst as a rocket was fired and the van exploded behind him. He was probably saved by the thing having wheels, and even then it flew a short distance before dumping him onto the ground.

"Did you get him?" asked Petrov. The legitimate news chopper had moved away to a safe distance when the duo attacked and had yet to return, so now he couldn't see any of what was going on.

"Sorry, Mr. Petrov," replied Irving. "My idiot comrade forgot that we have guns for times like this. He only managed to destroy the van and some garbage bins!"

"All right, so I didn't account for the wheels –I'd like to see _you_ try to hit him!"

"Fine, I will!"

Petrov ended the dispute before it could get out of hand. "Never mind that. Come to the offices, it seems that our friends the police haven't been trustworthy…"

He was disgusted with Hinkel for not looking after the security cameras, and with Shawn and Irving for wasting one of his precious weapons, but he could still count on the latter two to ensure that everything outside was under control. It wasn't; while the police really hadn't sent anyone to where Nestor was, one of the men stationed in the office building informed Petrov that an armored vehicle was approaching their position. Out leapt armed men, most holding machine guns but two carrying bazookas. Petrov's followers wouldn't stand a chance if those bazookas broke into the office building, so he chose to deploy the most powerful weapon he had remaining.

"I am very disappointed, M- City Police." Petrov's voice sounded much colder to the police chief this time, and despite his years of experience, he actually shivered.

"Petrov, please be patient. I've already gotten someone to start calling the people who can help you."

"Would they by any chance be the people currently attempting to break into this office?"

The chief kept his composure. What else could he do? "Of course not. The people we're trying to reach are many miles away in their own offices–"

"Enough half-truths! I can see your men from my window! It seems you have no wish to work with me. So be it. Comrade Shawn! Comrade Irving!"

"Yes, Mr. Petrov!"

"Take care of the liars. You have my permission to use a rocket this time."

The policemen, brave to the end, tried to knock the helicopter out of the sky, but it hovered just out of reach and their shots missed. The rocket was aimed at the bazooka-wielding pair, but since they stood so close to the armored truck, most of the team was eliminated in a single stroke. Those few left alive either tried to escape, or lay helplessly and watched as their friends were cut down by machine-gun fire. The only good thing about the situation was that all the deaths were quick.

"How many rockets do you have left?" asked Petrov when it was over.

"We used one here, and blind, underfed Comrade Shawn wasted one on the weapons van, so there are two left," said Irving. Shawn hissed a reply that had to do with walruses and rubber.

"Go to the roof of the museum and wait," ordered the terrorist leader. "You will conserve the other two."

"Yes, sir."

Estonia's fellow patrons were _still_ glued to the TV in the lobby, so only one or two stared at the young man with the dirty, singed clothes and hair wheeling the trash can inside. He took it straight to the office where Halyna was, and winced when she yelped.

"Where did you get **those**? I thought you said you weren't criminals!"

"Please don't yell… my ears are still ringing a bit. Do I have permission to access the tunnels you told me about?"

"What? Why?"

"I've got to help my friends. They'll be bringing company, and I don't know if they'll be crossing the street to get here…" He grabbed his computer, entered some commands, and soon had a diagram of all the old tunnels running underneath the complex and his own hotel. A second window showed a layout of the hotel's ground floor. "Thank God somebody thought to keep this file. Will you please let me into that room?"

"I should know better than to ask by now… Follow me." Halyna led him to a storage room, looked around to make sure no one else was in the hallway, then unlocked the door and ushered him inside. The place was larger than it looked (and seldom-accessed, judging by the cobwebs); after maneuvering her guest around tall shelves and discolored boxes, she moved aside a stack of cardboard boxes in a back corner, grabbed a hammer and took up the planks underneath.

"Please don't get killed, okay?"

Lithuania stealthily approached a nearby terrorist –and then his cell phone rang. The other man turned around and he had to shoot him.

"What's your problem, Estonia?" The two nations ducked into a nearby meeting room. "There's no telling who could've heard that!"

Estonia chose to let it slide, since his friend was under a lot of stress at the moment. "Do you know how you're going to get the hostages out of the hotel?"

"Er, we were going to take them out through the front entrance. You can hack in there and unlock it, right?"

"Or maybe through the mall," put in Latvia. "Whichever way had fewer men."

"I can unlock the front, but you guys know you risk losing some people either way, right?"

"Yeah…"

"I have a better idea. Try a pincer movement."

"Eh?"

"I've got the blueprints to the hotel. Not only is Ballroom B right down the hallway, it's connected to the kitchen too. Trap those terrorists, give them what-for, and then give me a call."

"And the hostages?"

"Just move quickly, keep in touch, and they'll all be fine. Trust me." Estonia ended the call.

They looked at each other. "A pincer movement…" repeated Lithuania.

Latvia shrugged. "I guess we'd better decide who goes through what entrance."

"You go in the front," said Lithuania without hesitation.

"What?"

"Trust me." He squeezed his little pal's shoulder and jogged away.

"Just great..." Giving a little shake of his head, Latvia peered out of the doorway and looked around. No terrorists in sight. Oh, that's right, they were doing other things _like guarding hostages_. He took a deep breath and tried not to think of how this Christmas was rapidly becoming his worst since before the Wall fell… He selected a heavy chair and dragged it along the hallway, wincing when the wood scraped against the marble floor. It was a nice chair too, shame it would probably be destroyed by the time this was over. When he reached his destination he sneaked a peek through the gap between the swinging doors –at least the hostages were all gathered in one corner, that would make things a bit easier. Latvia took one more deep breath, booted the chair forward to force one of the doors wide open, and opened fire with a shout of "Merry Christmas!"

In the future Latvia would joke with his friends about how Petrov had the greediest group of thugs in the world. The terrorists in the ballroom, sure of their victory, had been stuffing their faces with treats purloined from the kitchen, and half of them weren't even holding their guns. He managed to shoot three before they retaliated with their own salvo and chased him back beyond the doorway; tiny holes began to appear in the wall opposite. A fourth gunman went down as he circled toward the doorway to have a better shot at Latvia. After dispatching him, the tiny Baltic nation rolled past the open door and took up a new position behind the closed door, and as he did he got some backup.

Lithuania had come from the kitchen, and while the terrorists were occupied with Latvia he ran up behind the nearest one and took him down with the biggest, wickedest knife in his possession. He did it so efficiently that no one other than Latvia noticed, leaving him free to attack a second man; however, this one was noisy enough to attract the attention of the remaining thugs. Lithuania quickly took cover behind a table as they turned their fire on him, and Latvia took this opportunity to finish off two more of them. The last distracted gunman got the table thrown at him, with Lithuania and his knife following right after. He put up a fierce fight, so while the two wrestled Latvia shouted to the startled hostages, "Follow me!"

They wasted no time in obeying. As they pounded down the hallway he speed-dialed Estonia and shouted, "We've got the hostages, now what?"

"Still got the key card the lady gave you?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going toward the entrance, or in the opposite direction?'

"What's _that_ got –we're not going to the entrance."

"Okay, go to the laundry room. It's down the hall on your left."

"And what are we supposed to do in there?"

"The door faces east. Stay out of the northwest corner and watch for my signal."

"Wait, what?"

"Actually, it would be better if you cleared out that spot and _then_ kept away from there. I'll see you soon."

Latvia made it to the laundry room, jerked open the door and made for the huge dryer in the northwest corner. "Somebody help me move this!" he shouted to his charges.

A few people went to help him, but one had to ask, "Who exactly are you?"

"I work for the Latvian government."

"What?"

"I'm on your side! But you have to trust me. Now everybody stand back."

"What are you doing to do?"

"…I'm not quite sure myself." Boy, did he feel stupid when he said that. He was left with no time for embarrassment when a blast from the off-limits corner knocked half of them to the floor.

"All clear," coughed a familiar voice. "Anybody hurt?"

Latvia coughed too and righted himself. "Everybody's OK…"

"Glad to hear it." Estonia climbed out of the hole he'd made, brandishing a small flashlight. "I brought a ladder, so everyone please follow me. Latvia, make sure everybody's accounted for and keep to the left wall."

"What happens to the ladder when we're gone?"

"Leave that to me –after all, Lithuania will need it too."

"Okay. Let's go, everybody! Stick to the left wall like he said!"

Bless those hostages for their compliance –they hurried down the tunnel after Estonia as quickly as the darkness would allow them to. After about two minutes the little country encountered a shaft of light. It illuminated a second ladder leading up to its source; people had already begun to ascend. Latvia gently pushed the remaining hostages to do the same, chanting "hurry, hurry, hurry" under his breath. He was the last to the top, and when he was fully in the storage room he took a quick breath before asking, "How many people?"

Estonia told him, "I'd counted thirty-two people on the camera, and now there are thirty-five here, including you."

"Thirty-five? Great!" Latvia turned his weapon on the ladder.

"What are you _doing_?" Estonia grabbed his arm, but it was too late; only an untidy heap of splinters now existed below them.

"We didn't need it any more. If the terrorists came the same way we did they would've used it to break in here."

"So how is Lithuania supposed to get up here?"

"What are you talking about? He's here, you counted all the hostages and the three of us…"

Latvia trailed off as Estonia gently turned his head to face Halyna, who waved politely.

"…Дерьмо!"

* * *

><p>LATVIAAAAAAA!<p>

I can't stay mad at him. He's too cute. I want to steal him and give him hugs –just like 99% of the cast. Then again, I'm not the one who needs the ladder.

…I feel like a terrible human being for killing those cops :(

In other news I've heard Latvians prefer to cuss in Russian. Is this true?


	7. Chapter 7

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

Almost done… Here's a chapter to mark Christmas Day for the Trio, then the final chapter will be posted on Ukraine's Christmas Day. :)

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 7<span>

As Lithuania was left to finish dealing with the terrorists in the ballroom, reinforcements arrived, obviously alerted by the gunfire. He ran back into the kitchen and made the snap decision to head for the blast he heard –it was probably Estonia.

The wonderful, state-of-the-art hotel had doors that were all tightly sealed. None had been blown off their hinges, or showed any other sign of being entered or tampered with. Lithuania scanned each one as he passed, wondering how to find his friends… and then he saw the brown smudge on the door to the laundry room. When he rubbed at it, it began to crumble away. It smelled nice.

"Chocolate frosting…"

With no key card his only choice was to shoot his way in. Lithuania did so, praying he'd have enough time before the terrorists caught up with him. He chose to aim for the hinges, and when he thought he'd done enough damage he broke in the door with a few good kicks. The hole in the floor let him know where the others had gone, so he propped the door back up with a pair of large appliances –those would only delay the terrorists for a bit, but every second counted –and shimmied down the ladder.

The tunnel was cool and quiet. Striking a match helped Lithuania to not slam into any walls, but there wasn't enough light for him to guess where the others might have gone. Finally he picked a direction at random and set off, calling for his fellow nations every so often.

After his fourth call, there was a response. Lithuania heaved a sigh of relief, then realized a split second later that none of the three voices were familiar. He had just enough time to hide his gun in his coat before the bright beam of a flashlight came round a corner. They could still see his knives though…

"Who are you?" demanded the short man who held the flashlight. His two friends shifted their knapsacks to better grip their weapons, a semi-automatic and a sizable wrench.

"I… ah… I –my girlfriend –works in the museum, up there, a-and I was watching her work in the basement. Not this basement! But we were in the basement of the museum… um, fooling around, playing soldier, and I chased her down here–"

"Liar! Kill him!" spat the terrorist. Lithuania whipped out his gun and shot him point-blank in the liver; the impact knocked down all three men. The flashlight clattered to the ground as he turned and fled, trying to remember where he'd last seen the sides of the tunnel illuminated. He hit the wall once and dared to stop and strike another match, even with the remaining terrorists now recovered and in pursuit.

"Please don't let this go out…"

Then he saw the ladder beside a few wooden crates. He flung himself at it and climbed for his life, firearm clenched in his teeth, match forgotten on the ground. Every second the angry shouts grew closer and he swore his heart stopped for a moment when that awful beam pinned his shadow to the wall opposite. Lithuania took the gun in one hand, kept climbing with the other (thank you, military training, he was almost at the top), and sprayed the area behind and beneath him with bullets, taking grim pleasure in the grunt he heard. The enemy returned fire –he must have only hit the man with the wrench –and he felt something tear past his shoulder. He felt no pain, so he surged upward, heaved the wooden trapdoor open with a mighty clatter, pulled himself inside, and emptied his clip destroying the ladder and the third terrorist on it. Then he shut the door again and collapsed across it, breathing heavily.

As Lithuania rested, a pair of boots entered his line of vision. They weren't Latvia's or Estonia's; they belonged to a sweet-looking young lady, one of Japan's citizens, dressed for wintertime sports. She crouched down, Nintendo DS in one hand, and asked, "Feeling better?"

"Yes," he panted. Behind the girl, and all around them, he could see shelves and tables full of old weapons, ancient coins, pottery shards… "Where are we? Is this the hotel?"

She helped him to his feet, answering, "No, sorry. This is the M- City Museum of History and Culture. I'm Yuko."

"Hello, Yuko."

"And I'm Cornelia," sounded a different voice from behind him. Lithuania turned to meet the hazel eyes of another girl, clad in athletic gear similar to Yuko's. She was sitting at one of the artifact-covered tables; in front of her was an Italian copy of the _Divine Comedy_ and a small radio that looked out of place among the duller metals. "And you aren't supposed to be here."

"I know the museum isn't open yet, but… Look, there are some dangerous people on the loose, they've taken over the hotel and we need to get out of this complex _now_. I'll explain everything after we've left."

Cornelia tilted her head and smiled coyly. "All right, then, show us the way to get out of here safely." She offered a hand to Lithuania, who helped her out of her chair… and was rewarded by a blow to the stomach with her book. "Get him, Yuko!"

"_Hai_!" The poor nation had stumbled toward Yuko, and she leapt up and kicked him in the arm. She grabbed the same arm in order to hold him in place, then savagely head-butted him and finally let him go. She kicked him in the side when he tried to get up, but he rolled away and sprang back up just in time to block a vicious punch. Lithuania blocked three more punches and a kick before Yuko broke through his guard and dealt a blow to his face anyway. As he stumbled again she shoved him toward her partner with a cry of "Your turn, Cor-chan!"

Cornelia leapt onto Lithuania's back, wrapped her legs around his waist, and repeatedly slammed her palms into the side of his head, giggling the whole time. He threw himself backward, earning an "oof" as his attacker hit the floor, and plunged his second-largest knife into her thigh.

"Aaaaaaaaagh! _Cazzo_!" Quite predictably, Cornelia forgot about him and clutched her damaged leg as she writhed on the floor. Lithuania got up and felt a sharp pain of his own; when he glanced down at his arm, he saw a bit of blood. Fantastic, the terrorist had gotten him after all. He'd just have to pray the bullet had only grazed him. Meanwhile, he had two other problems, one of who was screaming in obscenity-laced Italian for him to die.

Yuko prepared to oblige her friend by snatching up Lithuania's gun from where he'd dropped it near the trap door. Cornelia's sigh of savage glee was choked off when they realized there were no more bullets.

"Will you give up?" asked Lithuania, readying two more blades.

"No!" shrieked Cornelia.

"No," said Yuko as she pulled a spear from a nearby shelf. Lithuania decided to let her come at him so she wouldn't be able to grab another weapon as easily. The one proved to be enough, as she displayed at least as much aggression with the spear as she had with her fists.

"Oh, Mr. Petrov?"

The terrorist removed the cigar from his lips and took up his radio. "Hinkel, this had better be good."

"It is if you like money," crowed the hacker before taking another big bite of Snickers. "The M- City Museum of History and Culture is now open for business."

Petrov allowed himself a genuine smile. "Wonderful news indeed, Hinkel."

"Does this mean I'll be paid the other five thousand?"

And there went the smile, as fast as it had come. "Certainly not! You couldn't even take care of the job I assigned you!"

"Wha –I just did! The security system is _gone_. I got all the cameras, I blocked all the cell phones, heck, I even took out the Internet for two blocks in each direction!"

"Yet you failed to warn me of the little sneak trying to steal my weapons outside of the hotel. Do you have any idea what might have happened, of what could be happening right now?"

"That wasn't my fault. Somebody hacked me!"

"You, the self-proclaimed 'Computer Caesar' of Western Europe, were hacked."

"…perhaps it was someone from Eastern Europe."

"Shut up! And be grateful I'm still willing to pay you what we discussed earlier!"

"Yes sir." Hinkel moaned and finished the candy bar.

Next, Petrov contacted more loyal subordinates.

"Yuko. Cornelia. Is everything ready?"

Neither woman replied. Yuko was still battling Lithuania, now wielding a sword on loan from Turkey. The spear she'd previously used was in two pieces on the ground, along with other artifacts knocked over and kicked around during their fight. The contents of Cornelia's table were among them, and their owner shouted the occasional bloody word of encouragement from where she rested against the wall, thumbing through Dante once more. Petrov's call caught them all off guard; Lithuania recovered faster than Yuko did and drove her into another table, so hard she slid across it and fell. While she struggled to regain her balance he ran toward Cornelia, who was making her way through the objects on the floor to the spot where the voice was heard.

"Yuko! Cornelia! Answer me!"

Lithuania got to the radio first (it lay next to a partially-disintegrated sack of coins) but Cornelia, in an astounding burst of speed, dove for it and bit his fingers before he could do anything with it. As luck would have it, that was exactly when Yuko came after him again, so he was forced to give her all his attention while the other terrorist shrilled, "Mr. Petrov! We're under attack!"

"Attack? From who?"

"I don't know!" Yuko forced Lithuania back. Cornelia scrambled backwards too, to avoid their feet. "He came in through the underground tunnels, stabbed me, and he's fighting Yuko right now. Does the government know we're here?"

"I'm afraid they do," responded Petrov's voice as Lithuania got close enough to make a nasty slice on Yuko's hand. She hung on to the sword despite her cry, but her grip weakened. "But if there's only one man as you say, the two of you should be able to handle him. I will be there shortly and we will proceed as originally planned."

"Got it! _Yuko! Kill him_!"

Yuko, knowing she was at a disadvantage, darted toward one of the shelves and tried to tip it over on Lithuania. He dodged it without a problem, and chased her past several more, only to have an axe flung at his face upon emerging from behind the last one. Yuko came right after it with the sword in her left hand, but Lithuania side-stepped that too and jumped onto a table. Dropping the knife from his right hand, he picked up a sword of his own and with it countered each swing or attempt to join him on the table. After a minute or so Yuko tired of this and went back for the axe, then with both weapons redoubled her efforts to deprive Lithuania of his position. It was working too –regardless of the enemy's injury and the increasing wildness of her swings, the nation found himself slowly moving backwards. At last Yuko dared to set one foot on the table, and as Lithuania countered he toppled off of it. Luckily his head didn't strike the floor with much force, so he was able to shake off the impact quickly. He stared up at Yuko, not moving or breathing while she grinned cruelly down at him from her new territory and adjusted her grip on her sword. She jumped down to stab him, and at that moment he twisted up and to the side and thrust his weapon through her stomach.

A little whine escaped her lips as Lithuania withdrew the sword. Yuko's knees gave way and she came to rest beside him.

Cornelia, engrossed in her book, did not look up at Lithuania when he approached her.

"Good, you finally got him. Now we just have to wait for–" The bloodstained blade at her throat got her attention. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the radio land in her lap.

"Call Petrov and tell him not to come here."

"_Vaffanculo_!" She spat at him and instantly regretted it as the sword pressed even further into her skin. Lithuania regarded her emotionlessly. "Ah –i-it won't do you any good. Whether Mr. Petrov thinks that I killed you or that you killed me, he's still coming over here, and he'll bring everybody else with him."

"Why?"

"Why not? Look around you. Everything in this room is older than our grandparents!"

Of course Cornelia was wrong about that last part, but Lithuania did as she told him and surveyed the objects once owned by himself, his fellow nations, and their citizens. What a mess, he thought. Even the little placards identifying each item were strewn all over the room. He peeled one off the bottom of his shoe, then looked at it more closely.

Latvia sat in the small office, sniffling and finishing the second of the three bottles he'd 'borrowed' from the hotel bar. The absinthe had yet to diminish his guilt over leaving Lithuania stranded underground, so Halyna had smuggled some pastries for the little nation to munch. They all found themselves partaking, though. When Estonia's cell phone rang he was loath to set down his donut, but he changed his mind when he saw who was calling.

"Lithuania! Where are you?" Latvia stopped drinking. Halyna stopped rubbing his shoulders.

"I'm in the basement of the M- City Museum of History and Culture."

"Why are you in the museum?"

"Because the terrorists will be here really soon. Check the cameras."

Estonia grabbed his laptop. "Petrov has left the office building. So have his men… and they're marching the hostages toward the museum. What's going on?"

"He must want to have a meat shield in case somebody tries to stop him. Everything they've been doing… all the speeches, all the killing, it's just one big cover-up."

"What's he covering up?" asked Latvia in the background

"Right now I'm looking down at property of the house of Rurik. Yes, that Rurik! Petrov wants the artifacts from the Kievan Rus' exhibit!"

"Well, they aren't invincible," said the smallest Baltic. "They started this… so let's go and finish it!"

Lithuania smiled and was about to agree, but his friend wasn't finished yet. "Hey, Lithuania?"

"Yes?"

"The terrorists are inside now. You should go find someplace to hide."

* * *

><p>The fight with two girls was originally inspired by "Diamonds Are Forever," but Liet's knives caused things to mutate in ways not even I could have predicted. By the time Yuko died I was listening to the "Conan the Barbarian" soundtrack.<p>

And now I feel lame for breaking those sweet artifacts.

There is some stuff from Kievan Rus' on eBay. Who wants to go empty their wallets? :D

Who wants to guess who the bosses are named for?

Oh, and Merry Christmas!


	8. Chapter 8

Tautų miršta sunkiai per Kalėdas

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

This would have been done on the 7th as promised, but I was in the hospital. :( I seem to keep having issues with fanfics and deadlines… ANYWAY, I am of the opinion that nearly every action movie can use some good gratuitous classical (or baroque, romantic, etc.) music, so when the guys enter the hotel for the final time I recommend playing the ballet music from the beginning of Act II of Verdi's _Aida_. But if there's something else you'd rather hear, that'll work just fine too.

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p><span>Part 8<span>

Petrov said nothing when he and his cronies reached the museum's basement. He didn't need to –the damage done to the room and to Cornelia told him everything.

"I –I didn't see which way he went," began the henchwoman as she put her book aside and struggled to get up. The man next to Petrov prepared to shoot her, but the grey-eyed man stayed his hand.

"Did you complete the inventory?" he asked.

"I did, and we packed as much as we could before that man came in. A few things may have been damaged during the fight, but the list is there by that table."

"Nothing has really been lost, then. You, you and you: go cover the exits. One man can't elude us forever."

As the men he'd indicated left the room, another terrorist asked, "What if he does? Look what he did to Comrade Yuko and Comrade Cornelia."

"He can hardly stop us now," smirked Petrov as he turned to yet another lackey. "Ilyushin, you did the people's work in the hotel and office; now go do the same here." Ilyushin nodded and disappeared along with his large black bag. "The rest of you will begin packing. After all, it is Christmas! Load up our sleigh!"

The others laughed and spread out in the basement. Some went for empty crates and began to fill them with packing materials and artifacts; others fetched crates that already contained their share of precious cargo and maneuvered them toward a large elevator that led to the parking garage. A few decided to go and see if there was anything upstairs they liked. Petrov opened the trap door and frowned down at the remains of ladder and lackey.

"He used all his bullets on poor Comrade Balthasar," said Cornelia, limping over to him. "But even if he gets another weapon from one of the exhibits, he won't pose any more of a threat."

"Got enough ammo, Latvia?" asked Estonia.

"Yeah." The tiny country secured the final firearm to his leg and took a deep breath.

His friend patted his shoulder. "I promise the three of us are going to live. We're going to beat the bad guys, save the hostages, and then laugh at Lithuania when Poland shows up."

"Speaking of Lithuania…"

"Right, right."

Lithuania had chosen an old Soviet transport truck for his newest hiding place. He noted with sadness that the screen on his phone now sported a crack, but hurried to push that aside before one of Petrov's men heard it ringing.

"Hello?"

Estonia greeted him. "Lithuania! Last time, I promise. I've seen that Petrov is keeping the hostages on the second floor. Where are you right now?"

"An exhibit on 'the glorious days of the people,' first floor… there's supposed to be meeting rooms on first and the second floors, and I heard a large group of people moving up past me, so what you said makes sense."

"How are you holding up?"

"I just spoke to you a few minutes ago, Estonia! I'm all right. Somebody grazed my arm with a bullet, but it's not too painful. I can still help out however I need to."

"Then just listen out for us and we'll see you in a few minutes."

"I'll be ready to go." A bullet punched a hole in the floor of the truck beside him. Before him stood two terrorists, weapons aimed straight at him.

"If you're ready to go," said one, "then let's go. Mr. Petrov will be glad to see you."

Latvia tucked the last bottle of absinthe back into his coat. "Don't tell me that I don't need this. I'm bringing it anyway."

"When are you going to have time to drink it?" asked Estonia, shutting his small black case and checking the batteries in his flashlight one last time.

"I don't know, but I'll feel better having it with me!"

"I believe in you." Halyna gave both countries a hug. "All I ask is that you don't destroy another ladder."

"No worries. There's only a few terrorists left in the hotel, so this is the last time we'll have to go underground. Latvia, let's do this."

"Coming…"

A single curious terrorist had followed Lithuania down into the hole in the laundry room floor and had yet to come back up, but the pair shot him before he knew they were there. No one else had bothered with the ladder after their fellow nation escaped. Latvia's hand began to stray towards his coat as they approached what was left of the door.

"Latvia…"

"I know, I know. I can't wait until we finish these guys. I feel tired."

"We're almost there. Just stick to the plan."

They un-blocked the door and dashed through the halls. Most of Petrov's surviving followers had gone to the museum, but there was a group left in the lobby (with more plunder from the kitchen). Latvia slipped behind the enormous tree before they could spot him and threw a grenade at them. Three men were left after the explosion, and although they were dazed they were still armed.

"Get back here!" hissed Estonia, leaning out and dispatching one of them. "That tree's not solid!"

"I know! Hang on…" Latvia had found a gap in the branches at the level of his eyes, and he fired through it until he'd gotten the last two.

"You are so reckless…"

Both Baltic nations entered the stairwell. While Latvia opened the third-floor door, Estonia continued to the top. The former looked up and waved, the latter smiled and nodded.

"Just let me kill him," drawled Cornelia. "He's not going to tell us anything."

In spite of the gun at his temple, Lithuania continued to glare. "I told you, no one sent me."

"I've already had the police lie to me today," Petrov said, toying with one of the knives they'd taken from Lithuania. "How do I know you aren't doing the same?"

"I guess you'll just have to trust me, Mr. Petrov."

"Trust… Someone has been killing my men. Someone has been stealing my weapons. And the one I caught with my weapons looked nothing like you. Perhaps several independent parties decided to all act on the same day in the same location. I greatly doubt it, though. Do you understand why it's hard for me to trust you?"

"With all due respect–" that is, none, and it was evident in Lithuania's voice, and they all knew it– "you have no right to take the moral high ground. You talked of lofty-sounding _and outdated_ ideas, but after saying those fancy words and killing those innocent people, you just came to take a bunch of things that don't belong to you. What's it like being a common thief?"

Cornelia backhanded him. Petrov took her hand and gently squeezed it.

"Crime is a product of social excess," he quipped, smiling in Lithuania's face.

Latvia found the exhibit full of Soviet memorabilia behind the staircase that wound through all of the museum's floors. No one else was present. Further inspection showed him a shell casing that was too new to be part of the exhibit, and then, nearby, a cell phone that he'd seen before. He couldn't see any blood, but he couldn't see Lithuania either.

"Lithuania?" he called. He got no answer. "Aw… Where could he have gone?"

"Who's there?" And once again, the bad guys had found him. He jumped into the truck and took out one of his guns. Two men appeared in the window seconds later. "How'd you get in here, kid?" one demanded, wrenching the door open.

"Christmas magic," replied Latvia, and shot them both.

The next terrorist he met was examining a series of vases, probably deciding which of the smaller ones to take with him. Latvia's gun jabbed him in the side.

"Don't you dare move. Where is the prisoner being kept?"

"T-the prisoner? All the hostages are in the same meeting room!"

"I'm looking for a single man."

"There was one guy… Somebody caught him sneaking around in here, took him to Mr. Petrov… they've probably shot him already…"

"Don't say that!" The pressure from the gun's barrel increased. Latvia didn't notice that the other's hand was moving.

"Oh, but it's true… Mr. Petrov is really unhappy with the way things have been going. But don't worry –he might spare the man, and he can get blown up instead!" With that, he whipped around and fired his semi-automatic. Latvia ducked and fired back. His aim was better, and the terrorist fell with his finger still on the trigger.

Everyone in the basement heard the clip being emptied. As their heads jerked up, Lithuania elbowed the gunman behind him and wrenched his weapon away. He was already behind the nearest shelf by the time the others started shooting at him. No matter how many shelves he passed, there were terrorists all over, still packing up their stolen treasures. Before they could hit him he moved behind one of the crates. It was the best thing he could have done, because they were loath to damage anything in the box and hesitated to fire. Lithuania, on the other hand, was free to pick off anyone who ventured too close, including the spiteful Cornelia. The question now was whether he'd run out of terrorists first, or ammunition.

"Do what you have to!" commanded Petrov. "We've got more than enough here!"

"Uh-oh."

Lithuania spared a moment to glance behind and saw that at least he wouldn't have to run for the basement door, not with the freight elevator closer to his position. He rolled behind a different crate, this one resting on a cart, and began to roll it towards the doors. With the enemy newly emboldened, he was forced to spend less time shooting, and more time avoiding being shot. How long could that wood stand up to the assault?

Then the freight elevator's doors opened with a _ding_. Inside was more rolling cargo, and from behind that came a burst of gunfire that sent some terrorists to the ground and others diving for cover of their own.

"Come on, Lithuania!" cried Latvia's head, peering from around the load. Lithuania scrambled from the crate to the elevator, Latvia punched the 'door close' button, and they rode to safety as a few bullets pinged off the wall behind them.

Ilyushin turned to his boss. "Now what?"

Petrov, clearly furious, struggled to keep his cool and picked up his radio again. "I haven't lost yet… I know where they're going… Comrade Shawn! Comrade Irving! Watch the hotel, and be ready to strike! The rest of you –there's the back stairway, use it!"

The elevator stopped at the third floor. Latvia took Lithuania's hand and guided him through the parking garage, then through the museum's dark halls until they reached the glass walkway that led to the Lavrinenko Hotel. Between the doorway and the landing of museum's main staircase were the twenty hostages from the office. Some were crossing the bridge, but in the wrong direction: although Latvia had freed them before going after his friend, another gunman had caught them mid-escape and was forcing them to return.

"Hey!"

The man turned around.

"Merry Christmas!" The two countries fired as one, and the combined force actually lifted him off of his feet. The hostages gaped, not sure what to think of the newcomers. Some began running across the bridge again.

"That's right, keep going," Lithuania encouraged them. "You're almost safe–"

Multiple clicking sounds behind them called into question the accuracy of that statement. There stood Petrov and all three of his remaining men, each lackey ready to shoot while their leader clutched his radio. The nations dropped their weapons and put up their hands; their charges on the walkway froze in terror.

"You've given me SO much trouble today," he said through his teeth. "Time to put a stop to it all… Where's your friend with the glasses? Is he waiting to spring another silly trap? Or did he get tired of playing and run away?"

"He ran away," muttered Latvia.

The corners of Petrov's mouth turned up, though his teeth were still clenched. "I suppose he was the smart one then. _Shawn! Irving! Blow them all to pieces_!"

The rapid whir of blades became audible. Irving answered a cheery "Yes, sir!" and brought the helicopter around to face the walkway. He was already glad that he'd forced Shawn to change places with him, but he looked like the happiest man alive as he prepared to fire –then something whizzed past his head and thudded into the seat next to Shawn.

"What the heck was that?" demanded Shawn.

"Don't blame me! I don't know!"

On the hotel's roof, Estonia adjusted his scope. He'd been looking for the best way to shoot those two without exposing himself, and now he had an opening. "Better try again," he muttered.

Petrov barked, "What are you doing? Get on with it!"

Shawn and Irving were moving around and not firing because they were rather preoccupied with not being shot, especially after the next bullet hit the former in the shoulder.

"There he is, you moron!" Shawn pointed out Estonia below them. "Let me blow the bridge and then we'll use the machine gun on him!"

"You had your chance, I'll do it!" Irving fired one of the rockets they'd been ordered to conserve. It crashed through the walkway's ceiling and the lower part of one of its walls, then exploded on the ground below, failing to actually destroy the structure. The last man to cross over was hit by some of the fragments, and his fellow ex-prisoners reached out to pull him to safety.

"Stop fooling around!" bellowed Petrov.

"Stop… moving… around!" Estonia fired once more. The pilot stiffened, then slumped over at the controls. ("Got you!") His partner failed to move his bulky body aside as the helicopter spun and fell from the sky in an ungraceful arc, striking the unfortunate bridge on its way down. To the architect's credit, while more cracks appeared the thing still managed to hold together. The helicopter landed in the courtyard, turned on its side, and plowed through five of the sculptures before slamming into the fountain. Shawn, bloodied and surrounded by chunks of marble but alive, sighed with relief and went to undo his seatbelt. Then the chopper exploded.

Rock and shrapnel flew as far as the office building and, of course, the walkway. Hinkel came screaming out of the mall as fast as his legs could carry him, only to find himself surrounded by policemen. Latvia saw the disbelief on Petrov's face and knew he had an opening, and quick as a flash lobbed another grenade. As soon as it landed he headed for the bridge, Lithuania right behind him.

"_Nooooo_!" The animalistic sound tore from Petrov's throat as he forced himself to his feet, looking like he'd go back down again at any moment, and lunged at the ones who had ruined his scheme. When he set foot upon the glass it cracked for the final time before disintegrating beneath the three of them.

Latvia had run first, so a good leap was enough to get him to safety. When Lithuania did not appear beside him, he whirled around and saw his friend gripping the bottom of the doorway, trying not to inhale the smoke from the fires. Gripping Lithuania's waist was Petrov, one eye swollen shut, a small flame licking at the leg of his once-nice trousers. The nation had been through a lot, but he did not have America's super-strength and would not be able to pull them both up.

"And it tasted so good too…" Latvia brought out his final bottle of absinthe, opened it, and dumped it over Petrov. The high percentage of alcohol in the beverage encouraged the flame to grow and engulf the arms dealer's body almost instantly. He let go and with a choking cry was gone.

Latvia gave Lithuania a hand up and helped him pat out the fire that had spread to his clothes. They rested there for a moment, breathing heavily. Lithuania pulled his friend into a hug and they started to laugh, but stopped when they heard footsteps.

"What's so funny?" asked Estonia.

He set down his rifle case and extended a hand to each. Instead of getting up, they pulled him to the floor with them. His friends burst into laughter once again, and he ended up laughing with them.

Out in the street, fire trucks were pulling up to put out the blaze. The police force was still there in case any more of Petrov's men were on the loose, and behind a barricade was a crowd of reporters and curious onlookers. The Baltic nations walked out of the museum with their arms around each other, looking and feeling like the old comrades they were. They were greeted with wild cheers and smothered with kisses by the chief of police.

"Please, can we see a medic?" asked Lithuania. The words had scarcely left his mouth before another man was guiding the trio to a waiting ambulance. In the distance he could see Halyna, waving as she balanced a large tray containing every treat her hotel had to offer.

Estonia saw her too, and cried, "Let her through! I could use a snack!"

Latvia jumped up and hugged her, careful not to upset the tray. "Wait, no drinks?"

"Do you want to get better or not?" asked the medic. They all laughed.

"Tea and coffee are more than enough, we really should…" Lithuania trailed off as he noticed a figure lurching towards them from the complex. It wasn't a fireman.

Oleg Stepanovich Petrov's coat was open to the cold winter air. Instead of a singed, bloody shirt, it revealed a black vest, decorated with wires and LED lights formed into a timer. It looked hastily thrown together, but it was counting down nevertheless. In his hand was the same cell phone he'd used for his earlier destruction. Hinkel saw all this through the window of the police car where he sat, and screamed again.

A hail of bullets cut down the arms dealer before he could finish pushing the buttons. Estonia ran to him and turned him on his back to find that he wasn't quite dead yet.

Petrov coughed, "I… couldn't leave… without giving you your… present first! Haha!" That was his last breath; he shuddered and went limp on the pavement.

Estonia yelled, "Get me a knife!"

"What's this about?" one of the policemen demanded of Hinkel.

"If I tell you, will you let me get out of here?"

"Not a chance!"

Latvia and Lithuania came over. "You really are a jerk, aren't you?" said the former.

The latter grabbed Hinkel's arm and dragged him to his employer's body. "Turn that thing off!"

"I –I can't."

"_What_?"

"I'm very good at what I do, but Petrov designed it, not me. He's always brought extra explosives, but he's never used them on himself. You must have really made him mad. I can't try to stop it or I might set it off early!"

Lithuania turned to the police chief. "Get these people out of here!"

"That's no good. He was going to blow up all three buildings, make it look like we'd all died so nobody would search for us after we left the museum… and knowing Petrov, this stuff is the same caliber as what he's got under the buildings. If the people way back there started running right now, they _might_ make it. Speaking of which–" Hinkel tried to flee, but Lithuania's grip on his arm was too strong.

"If we go, you go," he said. "Estonia, how long has it been?"

"One minute so far."

"Wasn't it set for just two minutes?"

"…Just let me work."

Latvia took the coffee from Halyna and began to chug it, heedless of temperature or lack of alcohol. The cup shook violently in his hand.

"At least none of our friends were here to get dragged into this," murmured Lithuania.

"Let me through! Let me through! I totally work for the Polish government!"

"I should have kept my mouth shut." Any further complaints were muffled by a combination of hug and tackle.

"Liet! I heard what was happening on the news, and I just had to find somebody and pay him to get me here extra quick! That was, like, SO brave of you to fight those terrorists! You too, Latvia! Where's Estonia?"

"He's right there, Poland, de-fusing a bomb," said Latvia as he finished a third cup.

"A _bomb_? How many minutes do we have left?"

"Less than zero-point five."

Poland let out a combination of whine and sob and buried his face in Lithuania's coat. "Oh my glob, oh my glob, I don't wanna die on Christmas…"

"You aren't going to die on Christmas," Estonia corrected him without turning around.

"Okay, fine, I don't wanna die, like, a few days before Christmas!"

"You aren't going to die a few days before Christmas, either."

"Are you going by the Julian or Gregorian calendar?" asked Hinkel.

"Shut up!" they all told him.

"Liet, tell me I'm going to live!"

Lithuania patted him on the back. "You're going to live."

"You don't even sound that confident!"

"You're going to live," said Estonia.

"Thanks for trying, Estonia…"

"I mean it. I took care of the bomb ten seconds ago."

Poland was motionless for a moment, then squealed and hugged Lithuania twice as tightly. Latvia hugged Estonia. Halyna sighed deeply and took a big bite of one of her own pastries. Hinkel was hauled back to the police car, begging for mercy.

"We can't thank you enough for this," said the chief of police. "Would you mind answering some questions on the way to the hospital?"

"They won't have to stay there for too long, will they?" Poland butted in. "We were totally supposed to have a nice Ukrainian vacation together."

"Once they've been checked out, if nothing is too damaged they can come right back to the hotel."

"I want to come too. This guy here is my BFF, you know. Can I ride with him? Please?"

The medics exchanged a glance. "I guess it wouldn't hurt," one of them replied.

"Yay! Come on, Liet, it's snowing. Let's go before I freeze."

As they all went to the hospital, Latvia's eyelids drooped and he fell asleep in spite of all the coffee he'd ingested. Estonia took out his cell phone and began an electronic chronicle of the day's events. Lithuania gazed out the nearest window at the white powder falling gently to the earth. Poland was content to lean against his friend's shoulder, but he suddenly jerked upright.

"Liet! I left my stuff with the guy in front of the hotel! We totally have to go back!"

* * *

><p>I'll need to work on action movie-inspired endings. Killing the Big Bad is easy, wrapping things up takes just the right words…<p>

I hope you liked reading this as much as I liked writing it. ^^


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